


Lift you up

by duesternis



Series: Shoot me down and lift me up [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Breakfast, Crime syndicate Au, Deadlock Gang, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, Not Overwatch AU, Past Child Abuse, Possessiveness, dark topics, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another breakfast installment, a gathering of information and Hanzo comes to a conclusion that no one will sway.<br/>A tub and a shower are involved.</p><p> </p><p>--------<br/>Part five of a series of Crime-syndicate AU ficlets. There will be a continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lift you up

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this one.

Hanzo sat in a hot tub, hair twisted up into a messy bun and eyes closed.  
Outside it was snowing again and he knew that McCree was already sleeping.  
Softly snoring as he always did the first two hours after falling asleep. He was probably stretched out on his back, one arm tossed over his head and the other draped over his chest.  
The t-shirt he wore to bed always rode up high on his toned stomach, exposing the thick line of dark hair leading into the low-hanging pair of shorts. That were a bit tight on the strong thighs, splayed on the sheets, covered in the same dark hair.  
  
Hanzo sighed and slid lower in the tub.  
There was also the line of McCree‘s throat to take into consideration. The round swell of his adam‘s apple and the smooth tendons left and right of it. The scruffy beard reaching down and dusting the first few fingers of his neck with hair.  
The shoulders, strong and broad, outlined by the tight t-shirt. Thick arms. Brown skin and those wide lips. The delicious shape they had whenever McCree smiled.  
His ruffled hair, that looked so soft, Hanzo wanted to drown in it, sometimes. With another sigh he splayed his legs in the tub and tilted his head back against the rim. The water steamed against his chest and Hanzo felt his mouth fall open, just a notch, He was very warm, heart thundering in his chest and something that resembled desire churning in his belly.  
He remembered McCree‘s rumbling chuckle and the morning he had woken with McCree‘s arms around him, his own cheek rested against the warm chest of the taller man.  
  
With a groan Hanzo took himself in hand and felt shame paint his cheeks red. But desire and need were unwilling to back down, winning the fight with an image of McCree standing shirtless in the Santa Fe retreat, light painting his brown shoulders with a hint of gold.  
After, the water was suddenly too hot and Hanzo rose from the tub on shaking legs.  
The towels were softer than McCree‘s, but they didn‘t smell of sunbaked stone and smoke. He rubbed himself dry nonetheless.  
Slipped into his yukata and drained the tub. Brushed his hair and braided it loosely over one shoulder.  
Then he crested the stairs two at a time and locked his bedroom from the inside.  
Hanzo stashed his yukata away and pulled his sleep wear on.  
Crawled under the covers and found his bed suddenly too wide and too cold. With a scoff he turned towards the wall and willed himself to sleep.  
It took him nearly two hours.

 

Jesse woke with a headache and a sour taste in his mouth.  
He sat up and ran a hand through his bed-head. His fingers got stuck in the tangles.  
With a muttered curse he pulled them out and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  
The floor came sooner than he remembered. But of course, low beds and long legs didn‘t necessarily go well together.  
He reached for his cigarillos and the lighter with his left hand and only remembered that his prosthetic was broken when he looked down at his stump.  
„Well, yeah.“ He chuckled and grabbed his stuff with his right hand. Lit up and took a piss before he brushed his hair tangle-free.  
Then he ran a hand along his jawline and sighed. There was no way he could shave himself safely with his right hand, so he‘d have to grow his beard out, until he had a new left hand.  
  
It was ten minutes to seven when Jesse checked the time and he cleaned Peacekeeper.  
Five minutes past seven. He dressed himself and loitered a bit.  
It was a neat fifteen minutes past seven, when Jesse McCree stepped out into the hallway.  
It was a neat fifteen minutes past seven, when Hanzo Shimada forced himself into his shorts.  
Jesse walked down the stairs into the entry hall and turned once on his heel. The kitchen should be somewhere around the left, and a cup of coffee would surely help his headache simmer down. A group of men entered through the front door, as he was setting off.  
One of them was Shimada‘s brother, dressed in a silver and green track suit. It looked ridiculous and very expensive. He was the eldest of the group.  
„Mornin‘.“ Jesse smiled at them and crossed the entry hall.  
„Good morning. Hanzo‘s still asleep?“  
„Nah, should be around in maybe twenty minutes, or so. Takes‘im some time t‘get goin‘ in the mornin‘.“ Jesse chuckled and waved at them before taking the left hallway at the end of the entry hall.  
The brother laughed and called something in Japanese after him. The young men laughed along, then they started to talk at each other in rapid Japanese.  
Jesse shook his head and yep. There was the kitchen.  
The telling smell of food wafted out of the open door and a radio was playing soft tunes.  
He knocked on the doorframe and stepped inside.  
  
The old woman from yesterday wasn‘t alone this morning. Two women were at her side.  
They all looked alike.  
A woman a bit older then Jesse maybe. And the young woman that had brought him the tea in the meeting room.  
„G‘mornin‘, ladies.“  
Shy bows and muttered ‘Good mornings‘. Jesse took his hat off and set it atop the fridge. „I jus‘ wanted t‘ get some breakfast fer me an‘ his lordlyship. Or make some.“ He smiled and was glad that his sleeves were already rolled up.  
The middle aged woman wiped her hands on her green apron and bowed. Deeply.  
Jesse bowed back at her and felt stupid.  
„Please, Master McCree, you should not have to make breakfast. Please, sit and wait.“  
She bowed again and Jesse cleared his throat. „Ah, thanks, Ma‘am, but if ya three need any help, I‘d be glad to.“ He scratched the side of his throat and felt stubble rasp under his nails.  
With a choked off cough he sat down at the small table he and Shimada had sat at yesterday already and settled an ankle over his knee.  
  
The three women talked in Japanese and worked as a perfect unit. They were cooking rice, stirring some kind of vegetable pan and Jesse was pretty sure there was fish in that other pan, complete with head and skin.  
It smelled delicious.  
The young woman, maybe twenty at most, smiled at him shyly and Jesse smiled back. She blushed and quickly darted over to him.  
Bowed softly. „Do you want to drink something, Master McCree?“  
It made him uncomfortable how scared she looked. As if he might lash out at her.  
„Thanks. Some coffee‘d be mighty fine, if ya have some.“ He smiled warmly and ran his hand through his brushed hair.  
She bowed again and was about to turn away.  
„What‘s yer name? Mine‘s McCree. Jesse McCree.“ He smiled and extended his hand with a soft nod.  
The girl took it, and gee, her hand was tiny, like a bird. „My name is Reagan Ayane.“  
„Pleasure, Ayane-san.“  
She nodded and Jesse let go of her hand. A moment later she brought him a steaming mug of coffe, milk and sugar in her other hand.  
„Thanks.“ „You‘re welcome.“  
  
Shimada stepped into the kitchen and that was apparently something the middle aged woman and Ayane weren‘t used to.  
They bowed so deeply, Jesse was afraid they would throw themselves on the floor.  
Shimada yawned behind his hand and mumbled something in Japanese.  
The old woman gave him a cup of tea and Shimada smiled at her with bleary eyes. He stumbled over to the small table and sat down with a sigh.  
Jesse turned his legs under the table and their ankles pressed against each other. Shimada was wearing socks and no shoes. A pair of light coloured pants and a blue shirt.  
There was a sliver of dark blue and gold along the open line of his collar, only on the left side.  
Jesse sipped his coffee and looked at the colours, frowning softly.  
Shimada slowly drained his cup of green tea and got a refill, without needing to ask for one. After the second cup he started to look like a human being and Jesse smiled at him.  
„Well, sleepin‘ beauty? How‘s been the first night home? Slept well?“  
  
Shimada looked at him over the rim of his cup and one eyebrow rose, along with the opposite corner of his mouth.  
„What do you want to hear, McCree?“  
Jesse almost said ‘My first name on your lips again‘, but settled for „The right thing, o‘course, darlin‘.“  
Shimada laughed and tossed his head back. The top layer of hair was gathered in a tiny ponytail, while the lower layers fell loose against his back. The beard looked as good as the first time Jesse had seen it and he wanted to touch the curve of Shimada‘s lower lips with his thumb.  
„I slept, I slept long enough. I‘d say I slept well.“ There was something in his eyes Jesse couldn‘t read and a twang of undefined longing spread through his chest.  
He sighed and wiped a drop of coffe from the rim of his mug.  
„Ayane-san?“  
„Yes?“ She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled at him.  
„Is there more coffee?“  
„Yes, of course.“ She smiled and looked at the coffee pot, still more than half full and was already on her way to it.  
„‘S fine, sweetie, I‘ll do it.“ Jesse stood and passed her with his mug in his hand. She smiled up at him, bowed and went back to chopping some vegetables or other.  
Jesse poured himself another mug of coffee and the old woman put breakfast for two on the table. She talked with Shimada in soft Japanese and Jesse carefully stepped around her to sit down again.  
The old woman took hold of his upper arm and Jesse barely managed to set his mug down without sloshing coffee everywhere.  
„Woah, there-!“  
„McCree-san!“ She pronounced his name very weirdly, Japanese accent thick around it.  
„Yes?“  
  
She bowed, back perfectly straight. Looked up at him again, tears brimming in her old eyes.  
„Thank you! Thank you, for bringing him back again. The dragons must have sent you, McCree-san, thank you! Bless you.“  
She touched the necklace she was wearing and then his arm again. „Bless you.“  
„Erm, thank you, Ma‘am. Erryone would‘ve done it, tho. ‘S the decent thing to do, really.“  
He rubbed his neck and cleared his throat. The old woman gave his arm a little shake.  
„The dragons sent you!“  
And with that she turned away and took her place at the stove again.  
Jesse sat down, threw a puzzled expression at Shimada and was met with a soft smile.  
He stopped, one hand on the table top and shirt sleeve still wrinkled from small, old hands. Shimada was smiling at him, all crinkly-eyed and tender.  
His mouth was dry and his heart felt the size of a small melon in his chest, swollen and thumping with something at the sight of warmth in Shimada‘s eyes.  
„She likes you.“  
Jesse laughed and sat down, hand slipping on the table, suddenly sweaty.  
„Yeah, well. Ain‘t I a likeable guy.“ He grinned and picked the chopsticks up, cheeks flushed and throat sweaty in the open line of his collar.  
Shimada followed suit and started eating, bowl of rice fitted into his palm like the smile around his lips.  
Jesse struggled a bit with the right grip, but got it working once he pried his eyes off of Shimada‘s face. He rested his stump on the table, and picked some of the vegetables from their plate, dropping them into his bowl and picking them up again with some rice.  
It wasn‘t the weirdest breakfast he had had before, but it was up there in the ten slots definitely.  
Biggest reason for that was the Japanese music coming from the radio. And the fact that Shimada was nodding along to the beat gently.  
„Figure, this ain‘t the usual place fer breakfast. Where‘s the brunt of the fellas takin‘ theirs? Or is it groups of three from midnight to mornin‘?“  
Jesse chuckled and Shimada picked a piece of fish out of the whole one. „There is a dinner hall in the next building that fits all the men stationed in New York. They take their meals there.“ He took a sip of tea and Jesse rested his face in his right hand, chopsticks held askew.  
„I prefer to take them here.“  
„Right‘ere?“  
A lifted eyebrow and a somewhat exasperated smile. „No.“  
„Awww, shame.“ Jesse grinned and knew that his eyes were softer than the belly of a kitten right now. There was no helping it.  
Really.

 

Hanzo led them out of the kitchen and back to the entry hall after breakfast. He undid his hairdo and gathered the full swath in a ponytail.  
Stopped by the stairs and huffed. His hair really was uncooperative today. There were strands falling out of his hands all the time, and bumps atop his head.  
„Aww, darlin‘. Let me...“ McCree raised both arms, only to stop and stare at his own left arm. He chuckled.  
Hanzo looked at him over his shoulder and let his hair down again. „I will get you a replacement. My people made you lose your arm.“  
„Nah, sugar, ain‘t yer people that did this. Bu‘ I appreciate the sentiment.“ He tipped his hat and dropped his arms again  
„Sorry, that I can‘t help ya. Real shame.“ McCree‘s brown eyes lingered on the line of Hanzo‘s neck. Slowly slipped down to his shoulder and from there over his collarbone.  
He felt them almost, like a ghost-touch on his skin.  
  
„It is alright. You do enough already.“ Hanzo lifted both hands to his hair again and settled for a low ponytail, like the ones he had worn as a boy.  
He took the first step on the stairs and turned around, looking McCree in the eyes. The hat was tipped back, so that Hanzo was granted a full look at McCree‘s face.  
Hanzo had his right hand on the railing, McCree had a thumb hooked into his belt.  
The cold light of a winter morning lay on the floor of the entry hall like spilled pearls. The house was quiet around them and for a moment there was a semblance of home between two breaths.  
McCree smiled lazily at him and Hanzo smiled back, eyes slipping to his favourite shape in the world.  
A door down the right hallway opened and Hanzo gave McCree‘s shoulder a squeeze, turned around and walked up the stairs. Turned at the top and looked at McCree.  
Who stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes huge and mouth open in a disbelieving smile.  
His cheeks were flushed.  
Hanzo jerked his chin at him and with a laugh McCree took the stairs two at a time. His long legs powerful, his spurs jingling happily.  
„Come with me.“  
„Right behind ya, darlin‘.“  
„When you keep saying that, it will lose its meaning, McCree.“ Hanzo grinned to himself and unlocked the door to his personal office. McCree chuckled behind him.  
The door swung inward and he stepped inside.  
McCree followed him.  
„Close the door.“ He did as asked and leaned against the wood. Lit a cigarillo. The room went out over the garden, a white pane of snow where green grass sprouted in summer.  
  
Hanzo sat down at his low desk and pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket.  
There was a sharp intake of breath from the door and he looked at McCree with an inquiring expression.  
„Golly gee, Hanzo.“ It came out flatly, powerless.  
„What is it?“ He frowned and McCree made a weak step forward. The cigarillo in his hand fumed faintly.  
„Ya look...“  
Hanzo put a hand to his glasses. „These?“  
A timid nod, a flush rising in McCree‘s cheeks. It was adorable. Hanzo smiled.  
„I need them for extensive reading. Since I was a boy.“  
A breathless laugh and McCree dropped to the floor on the other side of the desk. Barely on the pillow.  
Hanzo pulled a notebook out of a drawer and unscrewed the top of his fountain pen.  
McCree emptied his small bowl of paper clips and tapped ash into it.  
Hanzo raised a brow at that. „You‘ll clean that up later.“  
„Yessir.“ McCree grinned, face still flushed, and saluted sharply. „So.“  
„Yes?“  
„What‘s this about?“ McCree pointed at the notebook with his cigarillo. He closed his lips around the end of it and dropped his hat on the floor next to him.  
Hanzo wanted to touch his lips around the cigarillo and feel his breath on his fingers. It would be hot.  
„I need information about the workings of the Deadlock Gang.“  
„Ain‘t you got a division fer that kinda stuff?“ McCree rubbed his untended beard.  
Hanzo drew a tiny circle at the top of the page.  
„I need insider information.“  
Their eyes met over the desk and they shared an inhale.

 

Jesse took three drags before answering.  
„Okay.“  
And with that he mentally tossed the old black leather jacket hanging in his closet in Santa Fe out the window.  
He was fair game now.  
The tattoo on the sole of his left foot itched suddenly and he had to laugh at himself.  
Damn superstition.  
Shimada frowned at him. „What now?“  
„Ah, nothin‘. Jus‘ had to think of somethin‘ funny.“ Jesse grinned and stretched his legs out along the desk. Held himself upright with leaning his stump on the desktop.  
Crossed his legs at the ankles and let his spurs twirl.  
„Okay, what d‘ya wanna know?“  
Shimada shifted his notebook and looked at Jesse with an open expression.  
  
„Base of operations?“  
„Main one?“  
A curt nod.  
„Amarillo, Texas. Close t‘ the mid point. Been there fer years now, somethin‘ historic in a way.“ Jesse took a drag.  
„The boss?“  
„The one ya met in Santa Fe. Name‘s Oswald Leroy Hamp. If that were my name I‘d make people call me Boss too, an‘ nothin‘ else.“ He laughed and for a moment there was only the soft scritch of Shimada‘s fountain pen on the paper of the notebook to be heard.  
It was as peaceful as it could get for them.  
„How many members are there at the moment?“  
„Last time I checked it was 2,967 members. We always skirt jus‘ shy o‘the 3,000 since a few years.“  
„How old are they on average?“  
Jesse tapped his fingers against his spine and looked past Shimada out at the white garden.  
  
_„How old are ya, fuckhead?“  
„Sixteen.“ A hard slap to his bruised left cheek.  
„Don‘t fuckin‘ lie to me!“   
rough swallow, blood in his belly and pain in his heart. „Fourteen this winter.“  
A heavy hand on his head, a rough laugh. „Fourteen this winter! Jus‘ old enough to die, old enough to kill I reckon!“_  
  
„Young. Fifteen to thirty.“  
A sharp intake of breath and Shimada‘s fountain pen on the paper. Jesse kept looking out of the window. The brand on his hip stung.  
„Most of‘em come from poor families; illegal immigrants, native families, half-breeds. Luckless bastards that have ta feed too many mouths sometimes give us kids.“  
Jesse sighed. Tapped ash into the glass bowl and watched a bird hop along the window sill.  
His stump was sore and his back stiff. His headache was back and he wanted to sleep.  
„Usual business?“  
„Arms dealin‘. Trafickin‘, theft an‘ murder. Graceless American crime.“ He laughed hollowly and Shimada made another note.  
  
_„Sorry to say, Ma‘am, yer husband won‘t be comin‘ home.“ His gun's too heavy for one hand, so he shoots with two.  
_  
„Yearly income?“  
„A lot? Talkin‘ millions‘ere, darlin‘. Never seen much of it, bu‘ runnin‘ ops is expensive an‘ we have a huge area we cover.“  
„How does communication run?“  
„Old ways. Cowboy ways. Also private channels an‘ phonecalls. But a good horse or a bird can bring ya jus‘ about any message quicker than a car can.“  
Jesse grinned and remembered running messenger-jobs as a boy. A wild horse between his thighs and the wind in his hair. There had been summers he had only seen houses from inside to give and recieve new messages to pass on.  
„Internal structure?“  
„Almost militaristic. There‘s the Boss. He makes decisions. There‘s his right-hand-man. That‘s me. Was me. He makes sure decisions get relayed and worked on. There‘s the commanders, they‘ve got group of men under them, it‘s geographical. They make sure a job in their area gets worked and gets worked well. Then you‘ve the groups. They‘ve a leader who talks to the commander an‘ tells the men what they gotta do.“ A drag from his cigarillo. Shimada was taking notes.  
  
_He was leaning against a warm brown wall and tapped his hobnailed heel against the pavement. His men were gathered around him. Three were older than he was.  
_  
„An‘ under the men you‘ve got the kids. The runts, the ones that wanna be a member, whatever it takes. They work odd jobs around the Gang, until one‘f the men recommends‘em. The leader takes‘em under his wing, if he thinks they could work the job.“  
The bird flew off.  
„Then they go up t‘ the commander, an‘ so on. First time ya meet the Boss of the Deadlocks is, when ya get yer brand.“  
Shimada was very quiet.  
„‘S in Amarillo, in the HQ. Ya get strung up like cattle an‘ they heat the brand in a brazier. There‘s a lot of guys around, drinkin‘, sharin‘ stories and showin‘ off their brands and scars and tats. Ya hang there, smellin‘ yaself in the heat and heart tryin‘ ta break yer damn ribs. An‘ then they send the girls out and the right-hand brands ya.“  
A low chuckle.  
„Have‘ta say, ya never get used ta the smell. An‘ ya don‘t forget the pain. ‘S like gettin‘ shot, only hotter.“ Jesse exhaled softly.  
„Some o‘the boys who wanna join chicken out then an‘ there. They get the beatin‘ of their lifetime and get dumped by the street. Most don‘t get up again.“  
Shimada shifted in his seat.  
„Some jerk away from the heat and get a unclear brand. They never go higher than leader, ‘cause they won‘t take no pain for the Gang.“  
He ran a hand through his hair, cigarillo dead in his mouth.  
  
„Then you‘ve got the girls. Trophies an‘ girlfriends an‘ mothers an‘ sisters. Some whole families work fer the Gang. But most that join never see their family again.“  
Jesse coughed and held his shaking hand in a fist at his side.  
„Be careful with the girls. Some o‘em pack a mean punch an‘ most know how ta handle a gun an‘ a firefight. They can‘t be members, but they come as close as possible, some of‘em.“  
  
_Long, scarlet welts on his face and a screaming woman, furious, held by two of her friends. „You should be the one dead, McCree! They should have gotten you!“  
A sob that shook his core.  
„I curse you.“  
„I‘m sorry.“  
She wailed and Jesse ran.  
  
_ „There‘s a sign we use to identify other members. Needs a left hand, or I would show ya.“ Jesse laughed drily and dropped the cigarillo in the make-shift ashtray.  
Shimada looked at his hand. It was still shaking, so he balled it again.  
„Anythin‘ else? ‘Cause I‘ve got nothin‘ on the top of my head anymore that I could tell ya.“  
Shimada rose without any preamble and walked around the desk.  
Jesse scrambled to get up too.  
„Stay.“  
Shimada stood in front of him. His coat stopped at knee-length. His eyes were blazing.  
Jesse steeled himself. He didn‘t know for what, but he was ready to fight whatever would come now.  
A moment ticked by and then another one.  
Shimada still looked at him.  
Then he moved. Took off his glasses.  
„They branded you?“  
  
„Was barely fourteen. Was in December. Half a week to Christmas.“ Jesse shrugged. „They brand erryone, darlin‘. Part of bein‘ a Deadlock.“  
Shimada kneeled next to him, fisted hands on his thighs. They both looked at the white knuckles.  
Someone laughed in the next room. Loudly.  
„I‘m sorry.“  
Jesse inhaled and didn‘t know how to exhale anymore.  
„Cruelty against children is frowned upon in my culture. I cannot understand what motivates people to hurt a child. I condemn them for it.“  
Shimada lifted his right hand and put it on Jesse‘s knee. He stared at the fine bones set against the worn leather of his chaps and then his eyes flew to Shimada‘s face.  
A serious, almost solemn, expression made it a stony mask. Only the eyes moved.  
„‘S alright, really. It was a long time ago, an‘ I don‘t mind. It happened.“ He shrugged helplessly. „A lot of stuff happened back in the day.“  
„It should not happen again.“  
Jesse‘s eyes dropped to his stump and he nodded.

 

The rest of the day was a blur of planning and Shimada talking quickfire Japanese with his brother.  
Jesse had a ghost imprint of Shimada‘s hand on his knee and bees under his veins.  
His hand twitched towards Peacekeeper at every tiny noise and he couldn‘t stand to be in a room without a solid weight at his back.  
Shimada allowed him his leaning and loitering and staring angrily at people.  
They had dinner together in the kitchen, ankles pressed together and silence a fishbowl that they occupied.  
After dinner there was another meeting in the meeting room. This time just Shimada, the younger Shimada and three other men.  
Jesse stood by the far wall and watched them talk in Japanese. He was smoking and the stable line of Shimada‘s back kept his hand from shaking too much.  
Together they walked up the stairs.  
„What was that all about?“  
Shimada carried his coat over his arm and looked at Jesse.  
„About what you said last night.“  
„Ah, Egg-head.“  
Shimada chuckled and his eyes crinkled up again. They hadn‘t done that back in Santa Fe. Jesse wanted to cup Shimada‘s face in his hand the next time it happened.  
„Any conclusions?“  
„Not yet. Some tells, some hints.“  
They stopped by Jesse‘s door. The hallway was dark and deserted.  
„I will see you tomorrow morning.“  
„Yeah.“ Jesse managed a smile and opened his door.  
„Good night, Jesse.“  
His heart stuttered.  
„G‘night, Hanzo.“  
Shimada nodded, turned and took the stairs up to his room.  
Jesse managed to get into the bathroom, before his knees gave in.

 

Hanzo had been awake in his bed for nearly an hour now.  
The ceiling was low, too close to allow his dreams to come floating in and the bed was still too wide, the room too crowded.  
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time. With a close fist around his emotions Hanzo stood and soundlessly took the stairs.  
Avoided the creaking third step and walked down the middle of the hallway.  
Stopped in front of the third door and raised his hand to knock.  
A knock would be too loud.  
He couldn‘t call out either.  
Hanzo swallowed and simply opened the door. Closed it behind himself again.  
The bedroom was dark, no shape on the bed indicated that McCree was in it. Hanzo scanned the rest of the room.  
All was quiet.  
  
There!  
  
A sound from the bathroom. He crept closer to the door and leaned in to listen.  
It sounded like someone was being choked to death.  
The door was open before Hanzo had decided to open it consciously.  
„Jesse!“  
Was sitting in the shower, wearing his shirt and shorts. The leatherpants and his boots were in a pile on the floor.  
The lighter gave a flickering glow to the bathroom. It stood on the sink, too little light to be seen through the slits of the door.  
„Wha‘?“ McCree was shaking, he was wet and the shower faucet still dripped water on him.  
Hanzo kneeled down in front of the shower and pulled a towel down from the rack.  
„Come here.“  
He extended the towel in his hand and McCree shivered, hauled himself up and into the soft folds of the towel.  
  
Hanzo made a warm noise in the back of his throat and wrapped the wet, shivering bundle in the soft cloth.  
„I‘m here. It is okay.“ Hanzo rubbed the towel gently over McCree‘s wet head and a lukewarm hand gripped his wrist.  
„If ya wanna get rid o‘the whole Gang, ya gotta get rid o‘me too, Hanzo.“ There was desperation in the rough voice. Fear and anger.  
Hanzo rubbed a thumb over McCree‘s cheek with care. The grip on his wrist was shaking.  
„No. I just have to get rid of the right-hand-man of the Deadlock Gang.“ A decision formed itself in Hanzo‘s chest, even as he kept rubbing McCree‘s cheek.  
„A dragon will swallow the skulls and lift you up, renewed.“  
Huge brown eyes met his and the flickering of the lighter made them look almost black.  
McCree clung to him and Hanzo wrapped both arms around the brown neck he had dreamed of last night.  
The scent of sun and sunbaked stone still clung to McCree and Hanzo thought that it was maybe sun and stone that smelled like McCree, not the other way around.  
He took the handsome face back in both hands and looked at those wide lips.  
„I‘ll keep you and make you mine.“ He was talking Japanese and McCree blinked at him with confusion evident in every fibre of his being.  
It touched something deep in Hanzo‘s soul and he didn‘t resist.  
Hanzo leaned in and closed his lips over McCree‘s in a silent promise.  
  
He was met with an exhale, shock in McCree‘s eyes. Then they fluttered shut and he moaned into Hanzo‘s mouth.  
One hand held on to Hanzo‘s tanktop, as if the turning of the world depended on it.  
Maybe it did in that moment.  
Hanzo snaked one hand into the wet hair at the back of McCree‘s head and their lips moved against each other.  
The lighter on the sink flickered, once, twice and died.  
Hanzo pressed himself closer against McCree‘s chest and a sob sneaked into his mouth. He swallowed it hungrily and soothed his hands down McCree‘s back.  
Their foreheads connected with a low sound.  
„I‘ll mark you mine.“ Still in Japanese.  
McCree panted against his lips and Hanzo kissed him again. Their beards rubbed against each other.  
„Hanzo.“ It was the most divine form of begging Hanzo had ever heard.  
It broke his heart.  
„I am here.“  
  
He laced their fingers together and pulled McCree up. The taller man followed him mindlessly.  
Hanzo gently removed the wet clothing and helped him dress in his sleep wear. Then they slid under the covers of McCree‘s bed together. McCree nestled his head against Hanzo‘s shoulder and Hanzo pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
It felt the right thing to do.  
McCree sighed against his chest and Hanzo closed his eyes.  
„Sleep. I will be here, once you wake up.“  
„Ain‘t ya ever.“

They fell asleep together.


End file.
